


In Another Universe (SPECIALS)

by MrTYTrack



Series: MarkYong Asylum Fic (Part 1, 2 + Oneshots) [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Building, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Assault, Blood and Violence, Bullying, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Description, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Murder, Neurological Disorders, One Shot Collection, Past Child Abuse, Personality Disorders, Tags May Change, Thriller, Violence, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrTYTrack/pseuds/MrTYTrack
Summary: A series of (mostly) non-canon special one-shots in the universe of Death Pact and Against The World.[Requests Open]
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Liu Yang Yang, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Kim Jungwoo/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong, Moon Taeil/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: MarkYong Asylum Fic (Part 1, 2 + Oneshots) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975399
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	In Another Universe (SPECIALS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-canon.
> 
> Word count: 3319.
> 
> Synopsis: Mark's classmate goes missing in an abandoned asylum, so he takes it upon himself to solve the mystery of his disappearance. But during his search, it becomes obvious that he isn't alone.

Perhaps trying to make a change alone was impossible. Maybe it was foolish ignorance. Nothing had ever been accomplished by one man's hand—as social creatures, humans find comfort in having others of their kind by their side. But Mark didn't want to involve anybody else. He didn't want to _lose_ anybody else. He was aware of what he signed up for when he agreed to accompany his eccentric classmate to Namhyeon Psychiatric Center, a place where he'd been warned away from by his parents, teachers, and even the elderly woman who lived next door. Nonetheless, he ignored their warnings, agreeing to meet at the location at exactly six-thirty. He said he wanted to search for ghosts, Mark was too tired to laugh in his face, so he decided to go.

Which he did, and continued doing for a week. Every night, they'd meet again. They looked around, took some photos, and did some tests which Mark didn't trust in the slightest as a non-believer in the supernatural. They found absolutely nothing; he thought his classmate was completely and utterly mad when he asked him to go just one more time. He _told_ him that, shouting and mocking him. He decided to go alone. Mark told him it was a terrible idea, but why should he listen to him? He was just a non-believer, after all. He didn't want to spend more time searching for ghosts because he didn't believe that they existed.

Twenty-ninth of April, the year of 2020. The classmate that Mark had left to visit the asylum alone was declared missing.

Of course, he felt horrible. He created stories in his mind about how he could have prevented it, or how perhaps they'd have both been taken. Maybe his classmate was trapped, or he'd gotten lost on his way home. The more Mark thought about what could have happened, the more anxious he got. He decided to look for him. Foolish, foolish ignorance. He realized his stupidity when he heard the door he'd entered through slam shut behind him. His heart immediately lurched within his chest, turning around to see nobody. He scrambled over to the door, pulling at the handle with force. His breathing quickened, being submerged entirely by a thick panic which he wouldn't be able to break free from, even if he tried.

Giving in, he shrunk to the ground. Balled fists clinging onto the crumbled brick, he let out a deep sigh. Whatever happened to his classmate, he now had no choice but to find him. They'd have more of a chance to escape together. Sitting in uneasy silence, Mark took out the torch he'd brought. It was only weak. The light would hardly be any help, the weak stream of light revealed nothing but dust and the eerie hallway ahead of him. His eyes were playing tricks on him; he was almost certain that he saw eyes glowing in the darkness, peering at him as he tried to calm from his inevitable panic. Somebody closed him in there. The likelihood that it was an ax-murderer was high, especially given the past of the facility.

Hesitantly, Mark stood up. He couldn't stay in the same place for too long. He had to keep moving, if not because there could have been somebody waiting for him to let his guard down, then at least to keep himself warm. He regretted not bringing a coat. The air was bitterly cold, attacking every un-covered flesh. He was sure the cold would have been more deadly than whoever was scheming after him. Perhaps he'd freeze to death—or, his classmate may have—before he could be attacked. He'd heard countless stories of people dying in the cold, especially with the harsher winters they were subjected to due to the sheer amount of factories scattered around the borders of Seoul.

Taking weary steps onward, the teen noticed something on the wall that he never had before. There was a rusty red color coating the peeling paint and a slight metallic scent in the air. Naturally, his mind immediately pieced those pieces of information together, scrunching up his nose as he moved along. He didn't even want to know what that was from. Though he knew it was likely, Mark didn't want to think that his classmate was dead. He couldn't be. Or, he hoped that he wasn't, for the sake of his own guilt.

His torch began to flicker, making him immediately freeze where he was stood. He hit the torch on his hand, trying to fix it. If a battery was loose, all he'd need to do was knock it back into place. He did it again and again, each time becoming more frantic as the flickering only got worse. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, alerted and ready to kick somebody, but there was nobody there. Nothing at all. He was just being paranoid. The torch refused to turn on, making a feeling of dread attack Mark's insides. He was in complete darkness.

His eyes struggled to adjust. It was just _too_ dark, as though the entire building was an abyss or some haunting void. He realized that he had his phone and hurried to release it from his pocket. At least he'd be able to see, but he didn't want to drop it out of surprise. He turned it on, taken aback by the bright light, to see something disappear around the corner. His eyes widened. A shadow, once peering at him through the darkness, had just run away. Mark hoped his eyes were just deceiving him. That was the only explanation.

He could hear the gentle murmuring of wind beyond the asylum's walls. The silence—while being utterly terrifying—was somewhat calming. Silence gave him the impression that he was alone. Yet, he still felt as though somebody was watching him from the shadows. Perhaps it was nothing. His breath hitched in surprise as he shocked himself, stepping in broken glass which seemed to appear out of nowhere. The movement disturbed dust, tearing it from the ground where it then proceeded to occupy the air. He coughed gently, blocking his mouth from the dust.

He looked at the rim between where the wall and the wooden boards met. It was covered in a depth of dust, but his eyes soon wandered, settling on the cobwebs hanging from each and every corner. They were everywhere, but one stood out. It was a thick, complex system that spanned completely across the width of the window, gently blowing as wind entered through a gap. It featured trapped flies and, much to Mark's discomfort, a large spider. He felt as though it stared down at him with its many eyes.

An all-seeing predator. The teen felt like a fly caught in a web—in that case, the shadow would be the spider—being hunted down. His classmate was possibly also a fly. Mark would be the most foolish of all for risking his own life for a rootless search. Perhaps his classmate simply ran away. He could have had a tough home life. He didn't _really_ know him that well. He could've even lured him inside. The very thought made him uneasy.

He continued to walk. He hadn't ventured too far from the door, even when it felt like he'd been in the asylum for an eternity. Buildings like Namhyeon were timeless, small capsules showing a piece of the past. A rather dark past, at that. It made Mark shiver. He was beginning to understand just why his classmate thought the location was haunted. Patients that died during treatment or were abused and killed? Certainly, they'd have been ruthless, vengeful spirits that were trapped on earth. It did make _some_ sense.

The teen found that idea far less fearful. He didn't hurt them, so surely they wouldn't hurt him. He could even talk to them, get them to feel as though they weren't alone, even offer something. People left items at graves, so he assumed leaving something for a spirit that walked among a location would have the same effect. Like a peace offering. _Anything_ to stop a malicious spirit from attacking him. He had seen those so-called 'demon attack' videos circling the web.

There was an abrupt bang behind him, forcing Mark to break into a sprint. Faced with a wall, he turned around. Chest rising and falling rapidly, he shone the light down the hallway. There was nothing there. His back pressed against the crumbling wall behind him, the teen clenched his eyes shut, trying to regain the breath that he'd lost due to the sudden surprise. It felt as though something tore his breath out of his lungs, but he knew that was impossible.

He _needed_ to find some kind of evidence about his classmate. He had no way to escape, so he at least needed to preoccupy himself before he went completely mad in the eerie and downright terrifying building he was trapped inside. He continued walking hesitantly, gulping as he turned his back toward the noise. He couldn't help but feel as though something was going to jump out at him.

He edged towards a door. Seeing blood dried onto the handle, he felt his heart rate quicken, as though it was going to beat out of his chest. The blood looked fresh. He needed to open the door, but didn't want to touch the blood. In the end up, he wasn't exactly given much of an option.

A hand covered his mouth and pulled him back, firmly holding onto him. His eyes widened as he squirmed, trying to break free from their grasp. Whoever it was, he could feel their breath tickle the back of his head.

"Are you lost, little lamb?"

The voice wasn't exactly what he was expecting. His captor sounded far younger than he anticipated, and if it weren't for the situation he found himself in, he'd probably find the voice rather relaxing.

"It's been a while since I've had such a feisty guest," he said, "it makes a nice change."

Mark trembled in his captor's grasp, holding in an urge to shout, out of fear that the other wouldn't respond so kindly to that. He closed his eyes, stopping any tears from escaping. If there was any moment he'd ever feared for his life, it was then.

"How about you and I play a little game, hm?"

The hand was taken away from his mouth, but rather than shout, the teen simply wept.

"Wonderful, I'll take that as a yes," he said, "I can wait here for ten seconds. In that time, you, little lamb, will run away and hide."

He shook his head, but it was in vain. His captor laughed.

"That wasn't a question, you already ruined your chance to decline with your childish tears. Now, shouldn't you be hiding? You don't want to be caught by a wolf, do you?"

The grip loosened, setting Mark free. He ran towards a staircase, seeing no other option, and ran up it. He could hear the stranger counting in the distance. Looking through several doors, he looked for somewhere that he could hide. It was no good just waiting in a room, where he would possibly just _wait_ to be hunted down and tortured to death by some psychopath. If he could wait it out, maybe his pursuer would leave him alone or lose interest. 

He eventually came across a room with a—severely damaged—closet in the corner. Seeing no other option as he was already being pursued, he quickly hurried into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He turned off his torch and climbed inside of the closet, standing as still as he could as to not make any noise. He never expected to be hiding from somebody who could easily be a serial killer, closed behind a closet door. He heard shuffling down the hallway and a gently whistling. He felt chills run up his spine. He never saw himself as the fearful type, but he was hardly holding himself together.

He heard the creaking of a door, and praying that it wasn't to the room he was in, he covered his mouth to stifle any noise which could have escaped. He felt his whole body tense. The sound of footsteps echoed through the building. They were growing closer. Holding his breath as though it would help in any way, Mark clenched his jaw. He had an idea of what had happened to his classmate, and it made his entire body shiver. He was probably going to be added to the body pile.

"Little lamb, where are you? You're close, I can smell your fear," he laughed.

The teen wiped a stray tear from his face. He didn't like how close the voice sounded.

"Now, this isn't a very fun game, is it? It's more fun if you come out."

The door opened, it's loud, high pitched creak being a major giveaway. He was there. There was no way he was looking in another room. Mark began to regret his choice of a hiding place. Perhaps he should have run as far away as possible. The handle on the closed was pulled, causing the door to shake. The teen's fist tightened into a ball. He had to run.

"Found you," said the stranger, opening the door to meet his prey face to face.

Mark was taken aback. He wasn't being chased by some hideous ogre, rather, a good-looking—albeit rather rough in terms of clothing and his black hair—young man. The latter also seemed surprised, before his expression changed into a smug one. He smiled, making chills take over the teen's body. Before the pursuer could react, he weakly threw his fist toward him, making him chuckle as Mark ran out of the room.

"A chase? That's far more exciting. Run before I catch you, little lamb."

He'd never run so fast in his life. He sprinted around the corner, shoes harshly colliding with the shattered glass on the floor as he ran aimlessly. He looked around rather sporadically, looking for somewhere to go. Heading up another staircase, he heard his pursuer closely behind him. His heart was going to explode out of fear. There was a horrible feeling in his stomach, adrenaline pushing him onward. He didn't know where to go, but he knew better than to stop. He would lose his pursuer eventually. He just needed to get as far away as possible. He'd probably struggle to find a way out.

He was beginning to feel worn out. Looking back, he was alone again. He couldn't see his pursuer anywhere. It didn't make sense that he'd have lost him so soon. Expecting that it was a trick, he continued running. If there was one thing television taught him, it was that killers were sly and cunning. He wasn't going to fall for his simplistic tricks.

The higher up in the building that he got, the more destroyed it looked. The roof—which was _clearly_ visible through the collapsed floor above—looked as though it was about to cave in. The entire building was a deathtrap. Struggling to breathe in enough oxygen after so much running, Mark began to notice an odd, unfamiliar scent. It was sickening. He scrunched up his nose as he shot around the corner, only to find that it was a dead end.

He looked back. He thought that he'd surely have lost his pursuer by then. Maybe he didn't even see him running in that direction. The teen quickly shuffled into the room at the end of the hallway, not bothering to look back as he closed the door. He held the door shut, holding himself up using the handle as he tried to steady his breathing. His heart was just beginning to relax. That being said, he couldn't help but smell the stench even stronger than before. He hesitantly turned around.

His eyes widened, jumping back against the door. There was a _very_ familiar face and another person—as disorderly and downright filthy as his pursuer—sat against the wall. The familiar face, his classmate, was hunched with his head hanging low. Blood had dried on his face, with more of the crimson substance splattered across his disheveled uniform. His eyes shot back to the person beside him. A grin grew on the latter's face.

"Looking at your... _state,_ I'd say that you've been having fun."

Mark couldn't speak. He wanted to, but the words just wouldn't come. He felt completely frozen.

"Your friend is dead. What makes you think you won't end up the same way, hm?" he spoke.

There was a bang on the door, making the teen jump and step away from the door. Through the barred window—if it could even be called such—he saw the one who had been pursuing him.

"Don't touch him, Yuta. He's mine!"

"I wasn't planning on stealing your prey, I'm not some scavenger."

The seated man, revealed as Yuta, stood up. Mark scrambled away from him, making him chuckle.

"I'll leave you to the pup, then."

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?" the pursuer snapped.

"Right, right," he said opening the door, " _Taeyong,_ then."

The name seemed familiar to the teen, but as he was about murdered, he didn't particularly care. He couldn't see any way out. Even then, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. As Taeyong stepped inside and Yuta left, Mark stepped towards the wall. Accidentally kicking his classmate's corpse, he shuddered, looking back up.

"Well, little lamb, any preferences for your death?"

"P-please don't kill me!" he cried.

Yuta mocked him from beyond the door, laughing cheerfully. Watching as Taeyong stepped towards him, a deadly serious gaze fixed on the teen's weak and weeping state, the latter stumbled back, falling to the floor. Too busy pushing himself further and further away, Mark hardly paid any attention to the corpse beside him. He turned his nose up at the stench, but he had other things to worry about. He clenched his eyes shut as his pursuer crouched before him in an attempt to block out the reality.

"How should we do this?" asked Taeyong, humming in thought, "A classic old knifing? Take your breath away?"

Mark opened his eyes, quivering as he saw the other take out a knife coated in dry blood. He hadn't even noticed it lying beside his classmate. It was lifted towards him. His heart quickly sped up once again. Shaking his head vigorously, he shut his eyes once again as Taeyong suddenly lifted the knife. Preparing for impact, the teen quickly used his arms to block the knife.

But he felt _nothing_.

He heard the knife drop to the floor, looking to see them both wailing in joy. 

"The look on your face!"

The teen exhaled a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding. Relieved, he rubbed his face, looking at the pair in disbelief.

"Get out of here," said Taeyong, the grin not leaving his face, "fool."

Mark gulped, jumping up. He had no idea of what was going on. He thought he was surely dead, but he wasn't. Had they spared him, or did they not intend to kill him? Well, all he knew was that he was given an opportunity to run, and he'd surely take it. Yuta opened the door, stepping back to allow him to leave. Hesitantly—expecting to be grabbed—he ran out of the room and into the darkness.

Taeyong turned to the corpse, prodding it with the handle of the knife. Its eyes opened. "That was great."

"You're a sadistic kid, Doyoung. Tricking your friend like that," Yuta scoffed.

"We're not friends, he was _helping_ me. I knew he was just a cry baby. I can't believe you made me roll in corpses, though. My parents will kill me!"

"Well, he'll face one last challenger on his exit."

A smile grew on Taeyong's face. "Johnny Suh."


End file.
